A lesson learned
by pepperxxx
Summary: Sherlock decides to use drugs when John goes on a date with his boring new girlfriend. John gives him a good reason not to. Contains spanking.


Sherlock was bored.

Incredibly bored.

He had been bored for hours and John had hidden his gun. Which was just rude.

He would have gone downstairs to bother Mrs Hudson, but she wasn't in.

He sighed, knowing what he wanted to do but holding back.

The clock ticked boringly and Sherlock sighed again. Screw it.

...

He tucked the bag of remaining powder, the now empty syringe, cigarette lighter and spoon back into the slipper again, but didn't bother hiding it.

After all, Mrs Hudson was visiting her sister and John wouldn't come - he'd be too busy with his stupid new girlfriend.

The deliciously comfy sofa and the gorgeous release of opiates into his bloodstream meant he wasn't much inclined to move anyway.

He allowed himself to drop into a doze, drifting into a well deserved rest. He hadn't slept in three days due to an ongoing experiment and the kick of his preferred illicit substance was enough to tip him into the sleep he needed. He closed his eyes.

...

He was woken several hours later by the sounds of the kettle boiling and the clattering of mugs.

He groaned sleepily. Why was the kettle boiling? John's with that stupid girlfriend of his.

It only took him a second to remember why he hadn't wanted John to come round. He looked around the room and saw the drug paraphernalia in the slipper, easily visible at the edge of the coffee table.

Oh, hell.

If John saw that there would be hell to pay. He remembered the last time John had caught him using drugs very well. John had yelled at him for nearly half an hour, made him clean the entire flat and finally promised Sherlock, "If you use drugs again, I will really make you regret it. You think this was bad? Next time will be worse."

He sat up hurriedly, hoping to grab the stuff and quickly shove it under the sofa, but John came back into the room. Damn. Maybe he wouldn't notice.

Sherlock tried not to look guilty. John smiled when he saw Sherlock, raising his cup of tea in greeting and pulling out a chair to face Sherlock. "Oh, sorry," He said apologetically. "I would have made you one, but I thought you were asleep."

"It's fine." He tried to keep a cool head. Must distract John from looking at the coffee table. "I thought you were with Polly."

"It's Hannah, Sherlock. And she has the flu."

Ah yes. Horrible Hannah. Best to stay on John's good side though.

"Oh yeah. Look, do you want to get a take away?"

"I was thinking I'd do that rise dish actually, be more healthy."

"Were you? Ah. Mm - that's great!" He said to get him out of the room. "I'm starving, can you start it now?"

John frowned. He leaned forward to look at Sherlock's face. "Sherlock are you feeling all right? 'Cause you seem really off-" he stopped, seeing what lay out on the coffee table for all eyes to see. He looked at Sherlock, then back to the slipper full of drug paranephilla.

Sherlock wasn't usually very good at recognising emotions, but right now he could definitely see that John was furious.

"So that's why you wanted me out. So you could shoot up. I can't believe you'd do this again!"

"It wasn't like that!"

"Oh really? Well, you better give me an explanation for this. 'Cause right now, you are in deep shit, Sherlock Holmes!"

"I didn't use it, I was just looking at it!"

John stood up and walked over to Sherlock. He grabbed the sleeve of Sherlock's dressing gown.

"What are you doing!?" He pulled away sharply.

"Checking you for marks," John said, pulling up the sleeve and inspecting the skin and the small, bloody puncture in his arm. "Oh great. So not only did you use a Class A drug in our flat, you then lied about it and expected me to believe you?"

Sherlock stood up, yanking his arm away from John.

"That's not fair," he yelled. "You can't make me do anything! You can't stop me!"

John's lips just tightened. He took Sherlock's slipper and began emptying the contents into the bin.

"Oy! You can't do that! That's my stuff, you dick!" He attempted to stop John, grabbing the bin and trying to pull it away. John just tugged it back, continuing to tip the drugs into the bin.

He was left holding the slipper in one hand.

Sherlock stepped back, breathing heavily. He looked at John. His friend had that little smile on his face. Not the one he got when he was happy, but the sort he got when chasing a criminal.

Or punching them in the face. Sherlock swallowed.

John just held the slipper, bending it in his hands and testing the firmness. He reached out to grab the younger man.

But Sherlock made one of the quickest deductions of his life at that moment. Looking at John's expression and the slipper, he swung out of the older man's way and leapt for the door. He reached for the handle and tugged-

But the door wouldn't open. He had just enough time to think desperately; "Why won't the door open?" before John swiftly grabbed his arm and wrenched it up behind his back.

Sherlock grunted as John yanked him away from the door.

"Ow!"

John took no notice, wrapping his other arm round Sherlock's waist and marching him over to the sofa. Sherlock fought fruitlessly, tripping over his feet trying to get free.

John simply sat down and hooked a foot between Sherlock's ankles, tripping him so that he fell face first over John's lap. Winded, Sherlock simply lay there, gasping for breath. When he realised his position however, he renewed his struggles.

"No, John! Just no! Jooooooohn!"

His so-called friend just trapped his kicking legs underneath a thigh and pulled his arm back in restraint. Sherlock strained his neck back to look at John. John, who was adjusting his hold on the slipper.

"John! No!"

John simply adjusted Sherlock across his knee, raised his arm and the slipper gave a loud thwap as it struck across both buttocks.

Sherlock bucked as the first blow struck and gasped, shocked into silence. When John struck again, however, he soon found his voice.

"You can't do this!"

"I think you'll find I can," John replied, giving Sherlock's arse another hefty wallop.

Sherlock gasped as John's slipper hit home again, and again, and again. He hadn't ended up in this position since blowing up the shed as a child. It was much worse than he had remembered.

He kicked and struggled, but his attempts were fruitless. If anything John seemed to be striking even harder.

"Ouch! Ah! It hurts!" He wriggled around, trying to bring his arse away from John's unrelenting attack.

"That's the point." John raised his knee, bringing Sherlock's bottom up and aiming his slipper at Sherlock's thighs.

"Stop it!" He felt tears beginning to prick his eyes. John was not going to make him cry, goddammit!

John ignored him, choosing instead to speak with his smacks.

"Fuck John, you've made your - ow!" He grunted. "- point!"

"Don't swear," John said calmly, not halting his spanks at all.

"I don't deserve this!"

John paused. Sherlock inwardly smiled. He heard John's voice speaking and he twisted his torso in order to see his face.

"Don't deserve this? Sherlock, you used a Class A drug. You could have overdosed and died. You could get addicted again, you could be arrested! As it is, you're getting spanked. Lucky you!"

Lucky. How the hell was he lucky?

He began striking Sherlock again, putting his shoulder into the blows.

"You're just doing this to be vindictive - Ow!"

"Maybe next time you do something terminally stupid, you'll remember this and think for a second - I'd stop kicking if I were you, you're just making it worse for yourself."

He struck Sherlock again, hard enough that the resulting thwap was so loud it echoed through the room.

"Ahhh!" Sherlock fought furiously against John's hold, bucking and twisting out of his grip. "Fuck you, you bastard! I'm not doing what you tell me! Ever!"

Sherlock felt John stop and he breathed heavily, praying to himself that John had finished. He heard the older man's voice growl into his ear; "I think, Sherlock, that you should remember that you are the one turned over my knee like a naughty child. I warned you." And with that he raised his knee, lifted Sherlock slightly, and quickly tugged Sherlock's pyjama bottoms and pants down.

When Sherlock felt cold air hit his reddened arse he gave a howl of indignation, kicking and struggling like never before. This was so humiliating! John's slipper struck down again and he hollered in a mixture of pain and embarrassment. The sting was far worse on bare skin and it really, really hurt.

Being a doctor, Sherlock knew John saw a lot of bottoms and wasn't shy, but it still made him feel horribly exposed. Thank god Mrs Hudson wasn't here. She'd threatened to "tan his hide" more than once and if she was here to witness this... He inwardly shuddered.

"No, John you simply can't do this!" His face burned almost as much as his bum and he stopped kicking, because it clearly wasn't going to free him. "I-I-I'm not a child!"

John struck him again, ignoring Sherlock's yelp and said calmly. "No, you're not." He struck again and said softly. "I wouldn't do this to a child. You, however, should know better by now."

He struck him again and again, working up a rhythm. Sherlock couldn't control his tears now, but John kept going and soon Sherlock was almost sobbing as the wretched slipper repeatedly made contact with Sherlock's throbbing backside. This was going to leave bruises.

"It really hurts! Please! Please stop now! Please, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

John hit him again and said quietly. "Am I going to have to do this again?" Sherlock's voice caught in his throat and he gave a sob. "No!"

John smacked him again, lighter than before but it still hurt on Sherlock's sore skin. "And will you ever use drugs again?"

"No! I promise! Promise," Sherlock cried out, beyond embarrassment by now.

John put down his slipper and released Sherlock's legs and arm, carefully pulling up Sherlock's pyjamas for him.

Sherlock stepped away, reaching behind to rub his bum with both hands, giving John a pained look.

"Don't look at me like that Sherlock. You deserved it and if you deserve it again, then it will happen again."

Sherlock continued to massage his sore cheeks but said in a small voice; "I won't use drugs again."

"Not just if you use drugs, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at the older man sharply. He didn't say anything, but he rubbed at his damp eyes.

John sighed. "Come here," he said unable to stay angry. He pulled his friend into a tight hug, rubbing his back affectionately. Sherlock found he was shaking slightly and he wrapped his arms around John, who gently led him to the sofa, lying on his side so he didn't put any weight on his throbbing backside.

He put his head in John's lap, feeling calm as John absentmindedly stroked a hand through his hair.


End file.
